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although it was only months.
    He reached into the pocket of his tunic and drew out a handful of leaves. They were dry and brittle now, and a darker green than the day he had plucked them in the cool shadows of a Tarrasian Way Circle, but even as they broke, a sweet, sharp fragrance rose from the leaves. On the road to Calavere he had picked these for makeshift toothbrushes. He had another use in mind for them now.
    Travis kept two of the leaves, slipped the others back into the pocket of his tunic, rolled up the bundle, and returned it to its hiding place. Then he headed downstairs.
    Deirdre sat on a stool, strumming a quiet song on her mandolin. Max still slumped at a nearby table, his eyes half-closed, although whether it was music or pain that was causing him to drift wasn’t clear. Travis headed for the bar, crumbled the leaves into a coffee mug, and filled it with hot water.
    Deirdre looked up as she played. “Isn’t it a little warm out for tea?”
    “It’s not tea. Not exactly, anyway.”
    He let the leaves steep for a minute, then carried the mug to his partner.
    “Hey, Max. I’ve got something for you to drink.”
    Max blinked, then his eyes focused on Travis. He grinned, but it was a weak expression.
    “Dr. Sullivan said I’m not supposed to have alcohol. But I suppose I could make an exception for a single malt.”
    “It’s not Lagavulin, Max. Now go on—drink it.”
    With slow movements, Max accepted the mug and brought it to his lips. He took a tentative sip, glanced up with an expression of surprise, then drank the rest. He set down the cup. As he did, a trace of color crept into his cheeks, and his shivering eased.
    Max wiped his mustache with his unbandaged hand. “Thanks, Travis. I feel … better.”
    Travis nodded and picked up the mug, some of the tightness gone from his stomach. Max was still hurt, but at least his eyes had lost their too-bright glaze.
    “What was that, Travis?” a soft voice said behind him.
    Travis turned around. He hadn’t noticed when her music had stopped.
    “Just some herbs,” he said.
    Deirdre picked up the cup and held it under her nose. “I know a little about herbal medicine—my great-grandfather was a shaman—but I don’t recognize this leaf.” She looked up. “What do you call it?”
    “It’s—” He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying
alasai
. What would he tell Deirdre if she asked what language the word was from? “It’s called green scepter, I think.”
    “Where did it come from?”
    “I got it through Jack Graystone.”
    Deirdre studied him, then shrugged and set down the cup. Travis let out a breath between his teeth.
    “I’ll go make sure the kegs are full,” he said.
    It was edging toward evening when Sheriff’s Deputy Jace Windom stepped into the saloon.
    As the day wore on, contrary to what Travis had expected, a number of locals and regulars had wandered through the door of the Mine Shaft—although the place was still only half as full as on a typicalnight. However, Travis was grateful for everyone who had decided to come, and he would have given them all free drinks, except no one would let him.
    Jace tipped her hat as she reached the bar. “Evening, Travis. I just thought I’d stop by and see how business was doing.”
    Her gaze flickered to a figure hunched in the corner, and Travis knew the real reason she had come to the saloon. When would Jace and Max decide to tell him what he already knew? He didn’t understand why they hid their feelings for each other. But secrets were strange things, and the reasons people kept them stranger yet.
    Travis poured the deputy a cup of hot coffee. “Did you learn anything yet, Jace?”
    The deputy took a deep swig of coffee, then shook her head. “No one was able to positively ID the stranger. And there wasn’t much left for the forensics lab to work on. This is a mystery we might never solve.” She set down the mug. “But if it helps to know, my guess is that he was under